


Rise by Sin, By Virtue Fall

by ForgottenVice



Category: Saints Row
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Police officer Johnny Gat, lieutenant Gat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-01-28 08:55:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12602936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForgottenVice/pseuds/ForgottenVice
Summary: Cop Gat AULieutenant Gat has been given an impossible case to find any info on a long thought dead gang legend, who has recently broken her way out of prision.Des the Third Street Saints' playa is going to take Stilwater back and nobody is going to stop her. Not even the hotheaded detective that has caught her eye.





	1. A world turned upside down

It was one hell of a day. Waking up in hospital was one thing, waking up to find out she’d missed out on the last two years of her life was worse than a fucking acid trip. The Saints were gone. An empire she had practically built herself had vanished in the fucking wind.

Julius, Dex, and Troy fucking Bradshaw had let the saints crumble. All that talk about loyalty, about making the Saints Stillwater's number one gang had clearly been bullshit. Clearly Des had been the only one who ever gave a damn about the Saints. 

Her body ached in a way it hadn’t in over two years. Her legs were on fire and her arms felt like lead. Her body protested every movement. 

 She should have known better. Taking on an entire prison’s worth of guards so shortly after waking from a coma was probably not her best ideas, but then again neither was it one of her worst. The adrenaline had kept her going but with sunrise minutes away she couldn’t guess what was propelling her anymore. 

The most likely culprit was hatred, she’d woken up to a world that might as well been the fucking twilight zone. There were no Third Street Saints, everything she had done to make them the top gang in Stillwater had been in vain. Julius had just vanished and Dex had sold out to some corporate gig, and the Row? The row had been torn apart and rebuilt into an abomination. Sacred ground dug up and remodeled into a whitewashed Stepford version of her old home.

They'd even renovated the church her one sanctuary was now a fucking tourist destination.

If all of that hadn’t been insult enough when she sat down at Technically Legal and attempted to enjoy her first beer in two years she practically spit it out as the news declared Troy Fucking Bradshaw as the damn chief of the Stilwater PD. The asshole was a cop the whole time, looking back she was a little pissed she hadn’t figured it out sooner.

She wanted to storm right over to the precinct and punch him in the face, but to be completely honest it wasn’t going to happen, at least not right away. She was barely standing at the moment, she wasn't about to take on the Stillwater PD.

Des may have been crazy but she wasn't stupid. 

Troy would get his, but right now she needed a place to lie low. There were no Saints left to call on, she didn't have any friends left in Stilwater. None left alive anyway.

Which was why she found herself in the middle of suburbia at three am in front of an unassuming house with a cookie cutter door hoping that the woman who answered it wouldn’t deck her in the face. 

It took a few tries before she finally rang the bell and what felt like a thousand thudding heartbeats before it clicked open. Des Squinted as the light from inside momentarily blinded her. Before she was able to see who had opened the door she was enveloped in a hug.

“I thought you were dead.” It was barely a whisper, the arms around her felt desperately tight. 

She laughed weakly as she returned the hug, “guess that makes two of us.”

It seemed that the playa had a friend left in Stilwater after all.


	2. Old Friends, New Threats

Lieutenant John Gat had been having a frustrating few months. He’d been sidelined from beat cop to desk jockey. It didn’t take an HR report to tell him that he wasn’t well suited for deskwork. 

They had called it a “promotion” but to John it was more like punishment. He’d joined the Stillwater PD at the height of the gang epidemic involving Saints Row, and in such a violent time he had flourished. Drug busts, prostitution rings and all-out gang warfare had suited his temperament.

Things in Stilwater had been good, right up until the Third Street Saints fell apart. They had taken out every other gang in the city and when their top lieutenants disappeared they crumbled so fast the department could barely keep up.

With a nearly non-existent gang threat there was less work that let John feel fulfilled with his job. New gangs had popped up but for some reason the department wasn’t hitting them hard like with the Saints

Despite his tempered enthusiasm his superiors seemed to think he was doing something right considering his recent promotion. Paperwork was not his idea of a step up but the pay was better so he wasn’t about to turn them down. 

Which was the central problem with his current situation, day one after his promotion the chief of police stalked up to his desk throwing down a file as if it was a challenge. 

“I need you to find out everything you can about this perp.”

Never being one to turn down a challenge Gat nodded to the chief and as the man walked away he adjusted his glasses and grabbed the file.

Its contents were underwhelming.

The file didn’t have much, fingerprints, a list of charges and a photo of a scrawny kid in an oversized hoodie. The pickings were depressingly slim, there wasn’t even a name to go by.

The info sheet was nothing but question marks, the only thing he got out of it was an alias: Playa. As he flipped through the rest of the contents he surveyed the long list of charges laid against this “Playa.” 

From petty theft all the way up to first degree murder, it was an impressive rap especially for some kid looking like a wannabe gang banger. Even with all the charges there wasn’t a single conviction, the last page in the folder seemed to explain why.

It was a medical report, turns out this supposedly prolific gang member was laid out in the prison infirmary in some sort of a coma.

Even Gat could figure out that this was the lone survivor from alderman Hughes’ boat explosion, the one who had supposedly orchestrated the whole event. Why someone would set off a bomb while aboard themselves was a mystery, but it wasn’t the mystery that he’d been assigned.

One month into his “promotion” and he had nothing to show for his investigation. The Playa was by no means his only case but the file on his desk taunted him. Moreso after the object of his investigation broke out of prison quite spectacularly mere minutes after finally waking from a two-year coma. 

He wasn’t sure if he should be impressed or angry, he’d set up some interviews with the doctors treating the playa and now most of them were either dead or in their own medically induced coma.

The medical angle was really all he had at this point, all the former saints he’d managed to speak with said the same thing; the Playa never really spoke much and they had a talent for causing trouble.

Shortly after the jailbreak Bradshaw had removed all his other cases and moved Gat’s desk just outside his office. Troy wanted answers and despite his own history with the playa, he had nothing to add to John’s investigation.

So here he was like an unruly student seated next to the teache'rs desk, doing his damndest to find any scrap of detail about a virtual ghost. He was on the phone for what seemed like the 100th time and he was once again being railroaded by some Ultor secretary as he attempted to get a hold of Dex, a former Third Street Saints lieutenant. He didn’t even let the woman finish her fake apologies before he slammed the phone down on the receiver. Probably a little harder than was necessary. 

“Bad day?” John Jerked his head up, there was a woman leaning against his desk watching him with a calculating gaze.

“something like that.” He leaned back in his chair and eyed her up and down. “Can I help you?”

Nothing about the woman particularly stood out, she was in jeans and sneakers in a leather jacket. Her hair fell to about her shoulders. She was taller than average but that wasn’t was seemed to make his brain itch.

 Something about her seemed familiar but he couldn’t quite place what it was. 

“I’m just waiting to speak with the Chief,” She began fiddling with one of his paperweights, casually seating herself on the edge of his desk. “We’re old friends and I thought I’d surprise him now that I’m back in town.” John watched her for less than a minute before he grabbed the paperweight returning it to it’s place. 

"And you've decided to torment me while you wait?"

“The pretty cops in the bullpen are merely a bonus.” She quite deliberately eyed him up and down. 

“That’s pretty lieutenant to you.” If he must suffer through the promotion he might as well get to use the title. 

That earned him a predatory grin. “What is it you’re working on  _Lieutenant_?” She slipped the file off his desk and made to flip through it, but he was quick enough to stop her and took it back before she had a chance. Do not let it be said that he didn’t at least try to enforce the rules. 

“It’s John, John Gat, and I’m working on classified files about gangs, thugs, and murderers.” He wasn’t actually sure if the Playa’s file was classified but Bradshaw was clear that he was to report directly to him so He was going to air on the side of caution. 

“I do love Vice,” She grinned, it was clear she was not referring to the department. 

John Shrugged, “Don’t we all.” That got her to laugh and the sound made him grin, “You know my name do I get to know yours?”

“you’re the detective Johnny, I’m sure you can figure it out.” nobody called him Johnny, not since second grade, yet hearing it from this mystery woman it didn't sound half bad. 

She winked at him and strode off to Bradshaw’ office. He still couldn't help thinking she was somehow familiar, although for the life of him he couldn't figure out why. 

John returned his attention to his assigned task, the Playa wasn't going to walk into the precinct and give him the info he needed. He started to review the list of people who had been known to have contact with the playa. It was a veritable who’s who of Stillwater’s oldschool gang royalty, most of whom were dead. The playa’s work no doubt. 

He was musing over how he might have to crash a book signing to get in touch with Benjamin King, when something made him open the case file again. He had looked it over a hundred times, he could probably draw the fingerprints from memory at this point. But he felt like he'd missed something so he opened it again, the fingerprints were the same as ever, the list of charges could only grow at this point and the question marks on the info page still taunted him. 

That's when he realized it was missing. The photo. The kid decked in oversized gang colours glaring churlishly at the photographer wasn’t there.

He flipped through the file once then twice, no he didn’t miss it. Then he attempted to calmly sort through the papers on his desk hoping to find the only clear image the entire department had of the Third Street Saints’ Playa but deep in his gut he knew it wasn’t there. 

It wasn’t until he heard her that he figured out what had happened “See you later Johnny.” She was blowing him a kiss from across the bullpen. He stood instantly only to be blocked by the less intelligent of his peers hooting childishly at the gesture. 

He was about to dart after her, how could he have not noticed her swiping the photo? What did she even want with it? Who the hell was she?

“Gat. My office. Now.”

His train of thought, and attempted chase was halted by the Chief's order. He swiped the file from his desk and stomped into the office. 

Closing the door, he turned to the chief trying to restrain his anger at being stopped “I don’t mean to be rude sir but that friend of yours stole the photo.” He slammed the file down before Bradshaw to emphisize his point. 

“I know.”

“what?”

“I know she took the photo." Bradshaw was seated at his desk with all the signs of a defeated man. 

John’s eyes narrowed “And why would she do that?"

Bradshaw looked like he had just aged ten years in a day as he slowly reached into his desk drawer to grab a bottle of aspirin. 

"Because Lieutenant that was a picture of her. One she wasn't particularly happy about having taken."

Johnny looked at the Chief then his head swiveled to the door the woman had just left through, then he looked back at Bradshaw.

“Fuck.”

Chief Bradshaw ran a hand through his thinning hair. “That little piece of information doesn’t leave this office.”

“sir?”

“The press find out she was here, then the department starts dealing with a hell of a shitstorm. I’m only letting you know because she knows you’re assigned to her case she’ll probably be gunning for you personally.” 

That was the playa? The woman who'd escaped prison less than two months ago had sat at his desk and he hadn't even realized it. No wonder his brain had been itching. 

It was still difficult to think of the kid in the picture as the woman he met just moments ago she was bold and confident, and...

“I thought she didn't talk.”

The lieutenant raised an eyebrow disbelievingly, Bradshaw hunched his shoulders defensively “She's making up for lost time.”

Walking into the precinct and directly threating the chief of police was one hell of a ballsy move no matter who you were. John could help but feel impressed, it was a gutsy move. 

“Do you want off this case?” It was a minimal offer, a way out since this woman was now 'gunning' for him. 

John glared at his superior, “hell no.” He’d missed working against gangs like the Saints, with the Play back in town it looked like he’d be back in the action. 

“Good, then get back to work.”


	3. Get thee to a Nunnery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Des and Johnny bond over one of their mutual interests... strippers

Raising the Saints from the dead was busy work. After an agonizing week of recovery, Des finally managed to drag herself off of Aisha's couch and start to get the Saints up and running again. 

First, she had to get herself back in murdering shape. Staying at Eesh's place was fine, and it seemed Aisha enjoyed her company but Des couldn't stay forever. That and Aisha probably wouldn't appreciate bullets and blood Des would most definitely add to the décor. 

She'd gotten herself a shithole apartment in the red-light district a block away from a shithole gym. Recruiting and intimidating gangsters was difficult when you didn't have enough muscle to beat off, let alone beat someone with a crowbar. 

Coincidently it was at the gym that she found her first lieutenant. While it was true Pierce spent as much time staring at himself in the mirror as he did working out, he was the only one who knew who she was from the second she walked in the door.

Pierce Washington was ambitious, he’d approached her right off the bat, he wanted to know what she had planned and wanted in. His only ask was taking out some Ronin, which gave Des the opportunity to size him up as well. That and she got to shoot some Ronin, it was really a win-win. 

He was likeable, and more importantly he was competent. He'd be a good fit for the Saints, and Des put him in charge of Dismantling the Ronin, since he seemed to enjoy taking them down. 

Her second lieutenant was a harder find. 

Des had been looking into a guy for the job but he turned out to be a fucking disappointment, his soon to be ex-girlfriend however seemed to fit the bill. Shaundi was pretty excited when Des mentioned resurrecting the Saints and offered to use her connections; apparently, she had quite a few in the form of a dozen or so exes.

While Shaundi had hesitated in taking on the Sons of Samedi Des had made it clear early on. The Boss' word is law. If the stoner remembered that she'd be fine. 

Then there was Carlos. 

Des wanted to make him a lieutenant, he was gutsy he was enthusiastic and he reminded her of herself when she started with the saints. 

But he was also pretty green, he didn't really have a full grasp on the ins and outs of running a gang, and the prison break proved he didn't know how to plan things out. 

To be fair Des had never really been much of a planner either. She liked his tenacity, and that’s what eventually made her decision. Julius had given her an opportunity, it was her turn to pay it forward. 

Besides how hard would it be to take out a bunch of monster truck rednecks like the Brotherhood?

Having found her partners in crime, the Saints now needed a hangout. Clearing out the old mission had felt like stepping into an old pair of well-worn boots, familiar, cozy, a bit messy. Okay so maybe Des wasn’t good with the metaphors. But it made her feel like her old self. 

It was strange being in charge, despite all his talk off family and sticking together, Julius had kept her fairly removed from the day to day familiarities of the gang. He’d always said he had more important work for her elsewhere, but now she understood that he was using her, just like everyone else had. She was a tool, a means to an end. Get the job done and stay away from anyone else.

She still felt separate but now for much different reasons. 

She was the Boss.

It was the only name the new Saints would know. No one from the old gang had known her real name, even Eesh only knew a nickname. Now more than ever was determined to keep the tradition. 

She was in charge and she intended to be better than Julius ever was. She didn't need anyone to be her tool, and she wouldn't run away from the family she was building. 

The Saints were hers now and she wouldn’t let them fall again. 

She had a base of operations, she had lieutenants, and it was finally time to let Stillwater know that the Saints were back. Des left Pierce in charge of the recruiting and canonizations so she decided it was finally time to pay Troy a visit down at the precinct.

The police chief was less than pleased to see her in his office. He tried not to show it but he was panicking. He'd built his career on the Saints fall and she was more than happy to pull the rug out from under him. 

Most of her visit had been a string of profanities she’d directed at him, a few vague yet enjoyable threats, a short trip down memory lane, followed by a few more specific but equally enjoyable threats. Well, Des had enjoyed them anyway. She had managed to call him a lying fuckface at least twelve times and she was particularly proud of that.

Despite the entertainment there was to be had messing with Troy Des felt the real cherry on top was finding a new target in Johnny Gat. The Lieutenant had caught her attention when he was asking after Dex on the phone. She didn’t lie to him the man was eyecandy, at least once you ignored his shitty haircut. He was well built, even under his boring shirt and tie she could tell he had some muscle. He also had some magnificent cheekbones; those suckers were sharp enough to cut glass. She wasn’t usually into anyone with glasses but she was always willing to make an exception. 

Even better he was assigned to catch her. There was always something entertaining in playing a game of cat and mouse, especially if the mouse considered himself the cat. The look on his face when it dawned on him that she’d taken that stupid photo was well worth the trip to the precinct. 

It was a shame she’d probably end up killing him. She was Stillwater’s reigning cop-killer, unless someone up and took that title from her while she was laid out in the infirmary. Either way she’d have fun while she could, what else was life for. 

All in all, Des had been quite productive since her breakout and she’d figured it was time to reward herself, take a load off and relax. 

Which meant strippers.

Technically Legal had a certain charm. A sleazy, under decorated yakuza run sort of charm. Actually, to be completely honest Des was slightly disappointed in the place. Despite having some of the best dancers in Stillwater it didn’t really know how to put on a show. 

There was no razzle-dazzle. The lights were on a basic timer, nothing set to the music and it rarely changed from dancer to dancer. The stage itself was often boring, leaving the girls to make up for it with their costumes. 

She’d be sure to revamp the décor once she took the place from the Ronin. For now she’d have to settle for half decent drinks and some good dancers. At least they hadn’t skimped on the stripper poles. 

She’d been trying to get to know the dancers, most gangsters didn’t realize how advantageous it was to know strippers and streetwalkers. These girls knew all the dirt around town and being in their good graces came with a few perks. Sometimes she could even get one of them to help out with her own pole dancing routine. 

But amateur night could wait, for now she was content with a cold beer and gyrating hips. At least, she had been. Right up until she watched Lieutenant Johnny Fucking Gat walk through the door. 

* * *

 

It had been one hell of a week. After his impromptu meeting with the Playa he'd felt roadblocked by every avenue of investigation. It wasn’t any different than it had been before her appearance but now it was twice as frustrating. He kept replaying her final taunt in his head. She blew him a kiss, and he was all the worse for it. 

He need a break, a chance to relax. So he'd made his way to technically legal, hoping that watching some of the strippers could release some of the pent up tension he'd been holding on to all week. 

He walked in picked an occupied pole to sit by and ordered a beer, hoping perhaps he could forget the frustration that his job had saddled him with. 

* * *

 

Des had an idea it was a wonderfully awful idea, and with a bit of luck and a wad of cash she wouldn’t be banned from Technically Legal. Not that a ban would ever stop her but why make life harder than it has to be?

It came to her when she realized that he hadn't seen her. Johnny had entered the club and sat down facing away from her. He was clearly distracted and that's when it came to her. She'd need some help from a few of the girls but it was a devilishly wonderful idea. 

Des had money in her pocket, an amazing idea and best of all, no-one to talk her out of it.

* * *

 

Johnny had been slightly suspicious when the girl had told him he was getting a private show ‘on the house’ but apparently one of the new girls needed some practice. It probably didn’t happen often so he wasn’t going to refuse, it wasn’t every day you get the chance for a free lap dance. 

Chastity one of the girls he was more familiar with led him to the small private room, sat him down and made sure his wrists were in those little leather loops to keep men from touching the dancers. 

“Angel will be out soon. You two have fun.” Chastity giggled as she exited through the door behind him. 

About a minute later he heard the door open and close and a pair of heels clicking slowly towards him. 

“You must be Angel.” the woman stepped around the chair to stand in front of him posing for his benefit. Her stance was one of dominance, the effect was enhanced by the pinstripe jacket, tipped trilby and booty shorts creating a sexy 1920's gangster look. 

As he looked her up and down John had to admit he was into it. She was a bit bulkier than your average stripper but after eyeing her particularly muscled thighs he did not mind at all. 

She took leisurely steps towards him oozing confidence. She had a smug satisfied smile and he couldn't help mirroring it as she placed her knees on either side of his own. Something about her seemed familiar but he was enjoying the show too much to worry about it. 

She leaned in breath ghosting across his ear making the hair on the back of his neck raise. 

"I'm not really an Angel, I'm more of a Saint." As she said it he felt the cold press of a knife against his neck. "and I'd really appreciate it if you stopped following me Johnny." She said with an exaggerated pout.

That's when it clicked, she was familiar because he had seen her less than a week ago blowing him a kiss as she skipped out of the precinct. 

"Shit."

* * *

 

It turns out the girls working at Technically Legal were more than amenable to Des' idea. The small wad of cash she'd given them had helped but they also insisted they get to dress her up. 

At first Cherry had recommended a thief outfit she had, but when Des saw it she had drawn the line at looking like a slutty hamburgler. Keeping on theme Dallas had a gangster costume with fewer sequins and a bit more coverage. The outfit had come with some wingtip styled stilettos and Des had given Dallas a couple extra Benjamins when decided she was keeping them. 

Des was more than willing to go along with it. It was so rare to have someone so completely embrace one of her more extra plots and the girls were having as much fun dressing her up as she was going to have threatening a cop. 

Now that she was here practically sitting on his lap holding a knife to his throat, she supposed the extra fuss was worth the look on his face. 

* * *

 

"You know Johnny I've got things to do, people to kill and I just don't know if I have any time left for you."

"What do you want?" Despite having a particularly sharp hunting knife pressed to his jugular John was pleased with how nonchalant he'd managed to sound. The straps binding his wrists to the chair weren't particularly tight but he doubted he could remove them without this knife wielding maniac noticing. By all accounts he should be dead already. The playa wasn't known for playing with their marks. 

"What I want, is for you to back off.  You're not going to find anything, and I'd hate to have to cut up that pretty face of yours." She emphasized this by adding a slight pressure to the knife, and John resisted the urge to swallow. 

"Are you telling me to stop doing my job so you can play pretend at being Scarface?"

In a split second she'd removed the knife from his throat and slammed it between them millimeters away from his crotch. Her intent was clear and he winced. The blade had come far too close for comfort. 

“Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny” she tilted her head and grinned wickedly “I’m  _threatening_ you to stop doing your job, so I won’t have to kill you while I build an empire.” She grabbed the base of his skull and leaned in close to whisper “Because I am so much fucking worse than Scarface.”

She stood up backing away from him with the same leisurely pace she had entered the room. She'd left the embedded into the chair. Now she appeared to be twirling a gun. John's first thought was 'this bitch is fucking crazy' his second was 'damn that's hot.' 

Rather than mull over the implications of his traitorous brain he had to know something else. 

 “Then why don’t you fucking kill me right now?” this woman rarely had trouble mowing down civilians let alone cops. The fact that she seemed to be letting him go with only a threat seemed to be counterintuitive to her usual MO.

She pressed the gun against his forehead, he ignored the conflicted feelings of fear and arousal in an attempt to seem unaffected “because you’re pretty.” She then a made a boom noise while pretending to fire the gun.  Then casually sauntered towards the door. “But mostly I promised the girls I wouldn’t get blood on the floor"

With the clicking of her heels and the slam of the door she was gone. Johnny let out the breath he hadn’t known he was holding. Holy shit that woman was sexy, in a scary sort of way. It must have been the outfit. He was basically programmed to find anything in a stripper costume attractive. 

He hadn’t even seen where she’d been keeping the gun. He slipped his hands from the leather bands and carefully removed the knife from the place it had been wedged into the wood. 

He debated the pros and cons of having to submit the weapon into evidence, they already had the Playa's fingerprints but they didn’t have any name to match them to. That and he'd have to explain how he'd gotten the knife, that he'd let his guard down for a stripper. He'd never hear the end of it. 

He tucked the knife into his jacket and habitually patted his underarm holster, only to realize it was empty. Suddenly the appearance of a gun in the playa's hand made a whole lot more sense, because it was his gun that she had lifted while threatening him. 

He cursed, that was twice she'd managed to steal something right out from under him. 

The only saving grace there was that it was a personal handgun and not his police issued Glock. Another embarrassing explanation he could avoid back at the precinct. 

He began patting himself down to make sure she hadn’t robbed him of anything else. While he still had his wallet, he found something in his breast pocket which he hadn’t had previously. It was a polaroid, of her, the Playa. It was dimly lit but there she was holding the hunting knife sporting a wicket grin the fucking pinstripe trilby sitting jauntily on her head.

He flipped the polaroid over and on the back, was a word written in sharpie. 'Call me Boss' punctuated by a gold fleur de lis. 

"Fuck me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your feedback I really hope I can do this idea justice, especially because it seems so awesome in my own head. I hope I get to keep hearing from you all, I also endeavour to be a bit quicker to update hopefully I can keep to that.   
> ~Vice


	4. Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friends are great sounding boards, for heists, for work, for illicit encounters with people you should definitely stay away from.

The bullpen had been a disaster for the last few weeks, the Saints' return had thrown a wrench in the works. The other gangs were on edge and causing more trouble than usual. The whole city was on edge, just waiting for the next disaster. 

It was a bit odd though, with every cop on alert for the saints it should have been a matter of time before they started bringing them in. But every lead they got would go stale by the time any officers showed up to do anything about it. John honestly wasn't sure if he should be frustrated or relieved. 

On the one hand the Boss, no the Playa had evaded the cops with almost inhuman ease, it shouldn't be possible. But on the other hand, John didn't want anyone else bring her it. It felt personal now, and had absolutely nothing to do with how well she pulled off that stripper costume. 

She'd been playing with him from the very beginning, he just couldn't figure out why.

Last he'd heard, the Bo- Playa had torn through downtown with a rocket launcher. There hadn't been a reason. There were a few Ronin found dead in the area but they had just been victims of the carnage. The department was still sorting out the mess three days later. The repair bills would mount even higher. The surviving security cameras had verified that it had been a one-woman apocalypse that had taken up residence in Stillwater. 

He pulled the polaroid from his breast pocket and looked at it for what must've been the thousandth time. As if memorizing the curve of her smile would bring him any closer to finding her, that the quirk of her brow was a secret message, one that only he could decipher.

Although he wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted it to say. 

His reverie was interrupted by a piercing wolf whistle and a hand clapping his shoulder.

“Damn Gat your girl looks fine.” Detective James Barret, one of John’s more annoying co-workers. They had been street cops around the same time, even partners for and particularly low three weeks of John's life. 

Barret, was a social climber; not the type of person John really meshed with. The worst part was that the man thought he was good at it, but his attempts at comradery were faker that the tits on a stripper. He’d always seemed to be trying to gains something from people something John didn’t have any time or patience for even back as street cops. 

He had been grateful when Barret had been reassigned, the man bragged about a promotion not like Gat had cared, he would have punched the man if he’d had to spend another day sharing a patrol car with him. He sort of regretted that he never had. The man’s face was very punchable. 

After Gat’s own climb up the Ranks Barret had found himself lower in the hierarchy, meaning john had to put up with the false chumminess once again,"

“Fuck off Barret.” 

Well he wasn’t exactly good at it.

“That the same one that was in here a few weeks ago? She’s super hot, you did good.” Barret was always far too keen to stick his nose where it didn't belong. 

“What did I just say?” Gat didn’t have any cases Barret might want, the one he did have was between him and the chief so he wasn’t exactly sure what the social climber was after by bothering him at the moment. 

The man didn't seem to notice and kept leering at the photo, “What the hell do you want Barrett” HR wouldn’t be happy, but to be fair as far as John was concerned they rarely were. He probably wouldn’t still have a Job if it weren’t for the Stillwater PD’s high turnover rate. He still figured they’d be happy as long as he didn’t punch Barret in the Face. 

“you think she’s got any friends, or sisters who might be single?”  there it was. 

“No.”

The other cop seemed undeterred, “A girl like that’s gotta have some hot friends.” the not punching seeming less appealing by the second. 

“And if She intends to keep them she’s not going to set them up with you. Look I’m not your own personal fucking Tinder app.” This was like being stuck in the squadcar with the guy all over again. 

Barret looked like he was going to make another plea when John’s phone chimed. Thank god for small favours. “Look I gotta take this.” He Slipped the photo into his breast pocket while he grabbed his phone. He then stood up and walked out of the bullpen. 

“Anthony, what’s up.” John probably owed him a beer for such timely intervention. 

“Sal’s got a tourney coming up next Friday you in?” 

“Oh hell yeah I’m in. You got time tonight I really need to hit something.” 

“See you around 7.” Guess he was going to get to punch things after all. 

* * *

 

It was New York fashion week, Des had holed up at Aisha’s as was tradition and she’d even invited one of her new lieutenants, it was an invitation she was beginning to regret. At least she had a daiquiri or three to soothe her. 

"So my plan to rob the casino is too complicated, but there is no issue with you playing stripper to threaten a guy." They had just finished dying Des’ hair the perfect shade of purple, and Pierce had made himself comfortable on one end of the couch. 

Des rolled her eyes "What part are you having trouble with." She was sitting in front of the coffee table Eesh wouldn’t let her near the couch while the dye was still setting. Why the woman insisted on cream coloured everything baffled the gangster. 

Pierce leaned back on the couch, "The part where you want to fuck a cop."

Des raised an eyebrow, she'd known Pierce was competent but she hadn't thought him so astute. "Firstly, he's a detective. Secondly you’re not invited so why do you care?” She wasn't going to deny it, she had never been particularly good at a bare faced lie. 

“huh, I dunno? Maybe because it’s his job to arrest you, and by association me.’ He paused briefly, “wait who would you invite? Shaundi?” 

Des shook her head, “God no. Probably just Eesh, if she’s interested.” She leaned back looking towards the kitchen where Aisha was making popcorn, “Hey Eesh wanna double team my new detective friend?”

“is he hot?” Aisha sauntered towards the tv placing a bowl in front of Des and handing another off to Pierce.

“if you ignore the shitty haircut yeah.”  Nobody spiked their hair anymore, it could only be worse if he had frosted tips. 

Eesh curled up on the couch with a third bowl of popcorn on her lap. “find out if he’s any good in  bed, then get back to me.”

Des toasted her daiquiri “Will do"

Pierce snorted incredulously, “Why can’t you just sleep with her and skip the middleman? It'd be safer.”

“When have I ever done what’s ‘safer?’ Besides, been there hit that.” She toasted the singer a second time. 

“What?”

Aisha supplied “We dated, briefly.”

Pierce whipped his gaze from one woman to the other several times, “You two used to date? Why'd you stop”

The two women shared a look before speaking in unison, “She works to much.”

“You gotta give me more than that.” 

Eesh turned to Pierce “Every time we would go out and she’d see someone on some hit list or a car someone wanted jacked, not even date night was off limits.” She looked over at Des when she spoke again, it was a fight the two of them had often, “that and she thought Freckle Bitches was fine dining.”

Des merely shrugged pointedly ignoring her list of shortcomings to watch some neon covered models walk the runway. “So Boss what was your problem with dating Aisha?”

“None of her songs were about me.” She huffed.  She loved Eesh, but the gang had always come first. The same way Eesh's career had always come first, “and fuck you Freckle bitches is the shit.”

Aisha had written half a dozen songs while they had dated and half a dozen more since. Not a single one was about Des, not even if you twisted the lyrics. She didn't get a breakup song, hell two years later she didn't even get a dead in an explosion song. Eesh was still her best friend but her own rampant narcissism needed more from the singer if they were to sustain a relationship. 

They'd always be friends though, they both had far too few to let petty things like, failed romance spoil that. 

It was getting dangerously close to being an awkward conversation, "So about that heist tomorrow."

* * *

 

 

Anthony was the only person who could ever put up with John, He used to work at the department and he was actually John's first partner before a shootout with some VKs ended his career. 

Now he worked as a construction foreman, not a bad gig in a town like Stillwater, especially now that Ultor had taken an interest in remodeling the entire city. Having the Saints around to tear it down didn't hurt either. 

The job was also a lot easier on His nerves, having two kids and a mortgage to pay off made him a more responsible person. But Tony still enjoyed a little danger now and again which was probably why he and Gat were friends. 

Tony lived in the middle of suburbia but he had converted part of his three-car garage into a gym. Bench press, squat rack, hanging bag the works. They often got together to work out, keep in shape especially since Anthony introduced John into the fights. 

Stillwater had a sizable underground fight scene, it wasn't technically illegal until you factored in all of the gambling. The PD usually left the fights alone, there were far bigger fish to fry in Stillwater. 

So the fights went on mostly undisturbed and for that John was very grateful. He'd taken to beating the shit out of people incredibly quickly and finding a place to exorcise his demons made it marginally easier not the commit brutality against perps and coworkers alike.

Tony used to be big in the fights but the knee reconstruction kept him from going back, now he managed John's fights and usually bet enough to make a pretty penny at the end of the night. 

Tony was holding tai pads while Gat practiced combos. It was a lot tamer than the actual fights were but besides getting into bar fights there wasn’t really any other way to practice. 

“So, what you’re telling me is that this murderous gangster, got all stripperfied so she could threaten you, steal your gun and leave you a love letter?”

“I guess, I dunno if it was a love letter.”

“You sure you didn’t fall asleep watching porn?” John hit the pads a little harder.

“Fuck you.”

“Sounds like this Boss lady is trying to fuck you.”

John shook his head. “I’m not sure if she wants to kill me or sleep with me.” He growled in frustration “and it's incredibly hot.” Tony was probably the only person that he'd every admit any of this to.

Tony hummed, “I can imagine. If I could get Shandra into some stripper shorts, well I’d probably get her out of them pretty quickly.”

“C’mon man I need advice. It’s my job to arrest her.” He stopped punching genuinely stumped.

“Since when have you ever really cared about the job John?”

“Since it pays my bills and lets me shoot people.” Gat was simple like that. He threw another combo, for some reason thinking was easier when he was moving. 

“Why not just embrace it? As far as you told me the Chief just wants information on this chick. Right?”

“Right.”

“Well we all know how much slips during pillow talk, consider it going undercover.”

That actually wasn’t a half bad idea, except there was no way it was going to work. "She already knows I’m a cop.”

“And she’s still all over you.” Well shit. Tony had a point. 

“Maybe.” Gat mulled over his options, he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to sleep with the playa. He was still half convinced he’d been attracted to the stripper costume more than the woman wearing it. Besides it was a dangerous proposition, with her being a notorious cop killer and all “I actually kinda wish I could get something on her.  Did you ever run into her when you were working vice on the Rollerz?”

They’d given up hitting the pads and were now making half-hearted attempts at stretching. Tony was quite for a bit. “You know I didn’t but I may be able to get you a guy that did.”

“He still with the force?”

Tony shook his head, “He's not a cop, Actually he’s a mechanic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all your amazing comments and kudos, I love seeing them in my inbox.   
> This took me entirely too long to write, I will try to be a bit quicker about the next one. This one is kind of mostly set up for later on.   
> I think my favourite overlooked piece of cannon is how the Boss knows fashion. doesn't necessarily dress fashionably but in both SR1 and The third they know their stuff. I figured they have to follow it somehow. I also realized taking Gat out of the Saints kinda takes away all of his friends which seemed mean, so I gave him Tony.


	5. To make sport for our neighbours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heists, questions, and traps

She was pretty pleased with how the heist at Poseidon's Palace went.  

Pierce however was not.  

To be fair "you can catch me cheating or some shit." Is a fairly vague as far as instructions go. Des couldn't even remember what card table she had been supposed to sit at the minute she walked through the door.  

Conveniently all of the Ronin wore bright yellow jackets which were definitely not bulletproof. Des checked, like right away.  

Okay so she had started the firefight.  

In her defense Pierce's plan was far too complicated and he'd given her some C-4 in case someone fucked up.  

So, Des decided to fuck up. Immediately.  

Although in her opinion decimating a room of rival gangsters within a few minutes was not much of a fuckup.  

At the very least it was more fun than Pierce's plan. Although setting up the charges on her own while fending off a dozen angry Ronin had taken some doing, and maybe a bullet or two to her person. Nothing vital, just a graze on her shoulder and another lodged into her thigh. The adrenaline made sure she barely felt it.  

Pierce for all his planning and hard work arrived just in time to watch her blow the doors off the safe.  

The look on his face was priceless, and his stuttering didn't stop him from helping her load up the cash. 

Fortunately, he had also driven the truck making their getaway flawless.  

Well Pierce didn't think so but as long as she had fun and most of the property damage was to other people's stuff Des was calling this a fucking win.  

* * *

 

The ‘mechanic’ Tony had been referring to was in the brotherhood’s pocket, as well as a former Roller. Showing up and flashing a badge wasn’t likely to get John very far. Since he wasn’t much for planning he figured he’d walk in and rough the guy up a bit. 

Thankfully Anthony and given John some information about Donnie’s dealings with the Rollerz and the old Saints. He figured it would be enough, and if it wasn’t he’d improvise.  

It was mid-morning when he pulled up to the shop. This Donnie guy had a reputation for being an excellent mechanic, which why it wasn’t all that surprising that certain Stillwater gangs had snapped the man up so quickly. Especially gangs like the Rollerz and the Brotherhood, where cars were central to their identities.  

“Can I help you?” an unassuming man ducked out from under the hood of a red and white phoenix and began cleaning his hands on a rag in his pocket. 

John shrugged, “Maybe, a friend of mine told me you might have some information. You’re Donnie right?” 

The man's eyes narrowed but he nodded in confirmation. “Depends on what you want to know.”  

John looked him right in the eye, "I wanna know about the Saints." 

The man looked at him and laughed "You must have some awful contacts if you think I know Shit about the Saints." 

John laughed along awkwardly, "Yeah funny huh. But I don't mean the current Saints. I wanna know about the old Saints. Word is you had some closer dealings with them." 

Donnie Stopped smiling.  

"I don't know whose word you got but it ain't worth shit" 

"That why you're driving a dead Saint's car?" John nodded towards the voxel siting vigil in the corner of the shop. "What's that some kind of trophy" 

The mechanic swung for him. Not that John was worried it was abundantly clear Donnie was not a gangster because he excelled at violence.  

It had been trivial for him to grab Donnie's wrist and twist until he had the poor man pinned to the wall. 

"Fuck you!" 

John rolled his eyes and twisted the mechanic's wrist eliciting a pained gasp.  

"Okay, okay, okay! I swear I don't know much." It was embarrassing how quickly Donnie broke down.  

He leaned in using his weight to add pressure, "What do you know about the playa?"  

"They were Julius' trash man. Did the dirty work. What does it even matter the kid's dead." 

John let go and spun Donnie to face him.  

"What do you mean dead?" It didn't seem like this guy was referring to Hughes' boat.  

"Just about two years ago they drowned in the same car as Lin. Locked in the trunk by Sharp, then he pushed it into the river." He glanced nervously over to the voxel "I was there I swear to god they are dead." 

Tony had mentioned this Lin, she had been a Saint who'd switched to the Rollerz or was undercover. The details were a little sketchy.  

"Then who the hell is in charge of the Saints now." 

"Some bitch called the Boss, took the Playa's rap sheet. But I saw the kid drown." 

It wasn't what John had expected to hear. It seemed there were more layers to the Boss than he first speculated. Perhaps her past was so impossible to find was because it wasn't her past. That or the Boss was just harder to kill than he thought.  

"Who's Lin?" He needed any info he could get at this point. Was she the one they had pulled from the river? That’s what Tony had told him. Maybe she was just a friend of the Playa, or maybe she was the playa themselves.  

It wasn't much of a theory but theories weren't exactly John's thing.  

Donnie looked down sadly, but his voice sounded wistful "Lin was amazing. Knew everything there was to know about cars. Never took shit from anyone." He was getting choked up, "and she deserved better than what she got. " He looked so dejected, even John could see that standing before him was nothing but a broken man.  

John nodded at him "I was never here." He left quickly, he was not going to be this guy's shoulder to cry on.  

It seems Donnie had only given him more questions than answers.  

* * *

Aside from some patched-up bullet holes, Des was feeling pretty good after the heist. There was always a thrill after surviving a firefight. One that left her with restless energy, the kind of energy that makes you rearrange and clean your apartment or that makes you start a dozen projects that will never be actually finished.  

Personally, Des really wanted to hit someone, but while her deeds to launder the casino cash were appropriately violent they hadn't scratched the itch.  

She'd thought about pestering Aisha but the singer was still pissed at her. Apparently, her slice of suburbia being the first place Des showed up to with a truckload of stolen money wasn't okay with Eesh.  

So, Des found herself clearing away the refuse under the old mission. It wasn't her first choice but she needed to spend the energy and the place could use it.  

Turns out some of the new Saints worked construction so she'd pulled them into the effort. They really needed to make the place less of a shithole, or at least make it into a Saints shithole. With some of the money from the heist they at least should be able to afford a few stripper poles now.  

"There you are Boss" 

Des looked up from the junk pile she was hauling. Pierce and Carlos were coming down the stairs bringing her attention to how the staircase could look so much grander if they could prevent it from crumbling.  

"Whadya got for me?" She wiped her dusty hands on her jeans.  

Carlos hadn't done much against the brotherhood yet so maybe that was his news.  

"yeah apparently Sal wants to talk with you at the fights tonight." 

"Shit Sal's still kicking." She laughed "I should have guessed that cockroach can't die, what does he want." 

"Apparently his guy said he wants the Saints for security." That immediately caught Des' attention. Sal's fights had always been neutral ground. Anyone could enter, but the only fights that were allowed to happen happened in the ring.  Sal asking for protection seemed incredibly fishy.  

"Sal still neutral?" 

Pierce shrugged, "as far as I know." 

"So it’s a trap." Des hummed. 

"Oh, it's definitely a trap, but I can't figure out who's setting it." 

"Well obviously the Ronin, We did just steal a shitload of their money. " 

"But that means Sal's not gang neutral" 

Des shrugged, "Well than let's find out." That itch was still nagging at the back of her brain. This might just be what she needed.  

"What about the part where it’s a trap?" 

"C'mon Pierce that’s what makes it fun." At the very least she could feed her bloodlust watching a few fights.  

* * *

 

Gat was getting antsy. 

He was up in the first bracket, which was good. He probably didn't have the patience to wait it out for the second. He might beat the crap out of one of these assholes too soon.  

The week had crawled by. Tony's suggestion had saddled him with more questions than answers, and to rub salt in the wound there was dash cam footage of the boss sliding 'dukes of hazard' style across the hood of a patrol car, and he couldn't get access to it.  

That and the Saints had robbed some casino owned by the Ronin. Big deal. 

Gangs hit other gangs that’s their M.O. particularly with the Saints. Why anyone in the force made a deal of it stunk of corruption, John couldn't care less.  

But Morrison had footage of the hottest gang leader's ass sliding across her car and the fact he couldn't get a copy made John insanely jealous.  

He wasn't sure if he wanted it to add to his practically empty case file or to start a fucking shrine, but he felt like a child denied a toy. 

Morrison clearly didn't realize the gold she had, like a damn fool she submitted the footage to evidence without making copies.  

He'd gotten to see it once, during the morning debriefing and damn he wanted a second look. If only to reaffirm that the Playa's ass looked just as look in jeans as in stripper shorts.  

At least it was Friday. He'd quite honestly been looing forward to the fights since Tony's phone call had freed him from the company of the ass-kissing Barret.  

It was time to exorcise his demons, specifically one with purple hair and a fine ass.  

He slammed his locker shut. For such a simple man he couldn't understand how his life had become so complicated.  

* * *

Sal had been pleased to see her and was more than happy to welcome Saints into his company. Even so he was treating their arrival as a complete surprise and only Des' previous work with the man had earned them his favour.  

She leaned over and whispered to Carlos "You see the guy who 'invited' us yet." 

He shook his head, and she just shrugged.  

They were still pretty sure it was a trap but Des was fairly certain Sal wasn't in on it.  

Sal leaned in placing a hand on her shoulder, "You know, one of the guys dropped out last minute." He rolled his eyes "doctor's orders." It was clear that Sal was less than thrilled with this turn of events.  

"Rather than losing two fighters in the bracket-" 

"You want me to take his place?" Sal gave her that sleazy grin he was famous for nodding.  

"Hell yes." This was a no brainer, beating the shit out of smug assholes was really what Des did best.  

Pierce and Carlos looked less sure about her decision but honestly Des had been looking for an outlet and this was the perfect opportunity.  

"You can sit and watch the first round of fights here of course, Mikey was in the second bracket. I'll let you know when you can head down to the ring. It'll be entertaining to finally watch you work." 

Des hadn't actually fought in the ring before but she'd done a few jobs for Sal back in the day, and when you beat someone to death with a stop sign, word gets around.  

Pierce was giving her a panicked stare before hissing at her, "what about the trap?" 

"You and Carlos stick with Sal and you'll be fine. Just keep an eye out for the guy that talked to Carlos and let me know if you find him." She didn't really have a plan but that never really mattered before.  

"What about you?" 

She grinned, she was extremely excited to actually make it to the ring, "I play bait and I win the fights. Besides we already know it's a trap we're already a step ahead." 

The look Pierce gave her told her he didn't agree, but before he could argue the announcer declaring the first round of fights grabbed their attention.  

Looking over the first group of fighters Des couldn't help her gaze landing on one in particular. He seemed incredibly familiar wearing sunglasses and sporting an incredibly shitty haircut.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait on this one. Thanks again for all the Kudos and comments! Every time I get one it makes my day. We're gonna have some fun in the next chapter I promise.


	6. Action Is Eloquence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Des and Johnny each have a chance to show off a little

"What do we have here?" Des redirected her attention to the man in the ring. He was wearing sunglasses and a button up, but there was no mistake, it was the fucking cop.  
Her fucking cop.  
She wasn't sure when she started to think of him as hers. It might have been after she threatened him with his own gun at the strip club, or maybe when she was telling Aisha and Pierce all about him, but if she was being honest, it was the moment she saw the look on his face at the precinct. After she blew him a kiss the way he looked at her told her that she owned him.  
Pierce broke her train of thought as he leaned towards her and whispered, "Trap."  
And Fuck it if he wasn't right. Getting an invite where a fucking detective was center stage seemed pretty damning.  
She couldn't figure out the fighter angle but someone set a trap, and the cops would want the Saints out of the way almost more than any of the other gangs. Here was a cop. Not just any cop the one cop she seemed to have developed a soft spot for. The cop specifically assigned to her case.  
She’d thought she’d effectively cowed Troy, but it looked like being Chief of police had made him braver than when she had known him. It was sloppy though, Sal’s fights were a shitty target, even by Stillwater PD standards.  
She was going around and round trying to think of how the trap would spring and what would make Troy ‘I’m a fucking pushover’ Bradshaw pull such a ballsy move. She couldn’t come up with anything reasonable.  
She’d been so busy mulling it over she hadn’t been paying any attention the first three fights. Pierce started smacking her shoulder to as Johnny stepped into the cage. The announcer introduced the fighters.  
Des looked over to Sal, “Shades? That’s a pretty shit fight name.”  
The bookie preened, “One of our more popular fighters. He lacks creativity but he’s a better fighter than a thinker.”  
“You know he’s a cop right.” Pierce shot out point blank. Des had never been one for subtlety so she couldn’t expect it of her lieutenants either.  
Sal dismissed the comment, “and he’s been fighting here for the past couple years. Besides my bribes are all paid. You’ve got nothing to worry about.” Des rolled her eyes worrying wasn’t really her thing. Honestly, it’s why she had Pierce. Despite Sam’s reassurance he looked nervous.  
Although it was an interesting piece of information, she shrugged at Pierce. Maybe they were just being paranoid, or someone else set the trap. The PD were notoriously easy to bribe, or threaten, or just evade. Really Des didn’t have the highest opinion of the Police, but she did have a definite interest in the one who had just stepped into the ring.  
Des focused her attention to the ring, she’d had opportunities to torment, goad, and otherwise threaten Johnny but she’d never had the chance to see the man fight. To be honest she didn’t even know if he could. Watching him fight would be quite the learning experience.

* * *

 

John had never minded the crowd, whether they cheered for him or his opponent was not really his concern. He was here to beat down the whoever they pit against him, and forget about his problems. The whole fighter announcements were frankly boring, they just meant he had to wait longer to get to the good part.  
His latest opponent however seemed keen on riling up the crowd, gesturing for more cheers. It was irritating, this guy should have been paying attention to the ass kicking he was about to receive. He turned to Gat just as the bell went and didn’t even have time to finish whatever taunt he was attempting before Gat’s fist was embedded in his gut.  
The whoosh of air was a fairly satisfying sound but the crunch when the guy’s nose as it met his knee was truly rewarding.  
The man toppled to the floor clutching his face while making pitiful whining noises as he attempted to stem the blood gushing from his nose, it was abundantly clear he would not be getting back up.  
It was over too quickly, but John was hardly surprised. The first couple rounds were always too short. The lesser fighters needed to be weeded out first.  
He didn’t really mind doing the weeding all that much.  
When the announcer grabbed his hand to declare him the winner John had to fight the urge to free his wrist and deck the man. He wasn’t any less jittery than before, but at least this fight had been a taste of what was left to come. He’d hopefully be able to get rid of the rest of his tension by beating a few more opponents.  
He glanced around the ring but he couldn’t make out the faces in the crowd. He knew Tony was waiting by the gate for him but the lights made it impossible to see anyone beyond the ring. The chain-link fence surrounding it didn’t help. Not that it mattered much, He wouldn’t know anyone in the crowd anyway.  
He stalked back to the locker room anticipating the next fight where he would get to beat the shit out of two new fighters.

* * *

 

Des was in awe. The pure brutal violence was probably the most fucking attractive display she had ever seen. If she’d known how he could fight she would have started one herself. She was now more eager than ever to jump into the ring. Violence begets violence , wasn’t that how the saying went?  
“That’s the cop you’ve been fucking with?” Carlos was looking at her with a newfound respect, Pierce was staring at her with newfound horror.  
Des grinned, nodding a little too enthusiastically.  
Sal leaned over to her “You probably should make your way to the ring; the second bracket starts after the next two fights.”  
She did as suggested and removed herself from her seat winking at Carlos, and saluting Pierce as she started to make her way down towards the locker room.

* * *

 

John had barely broken a sweat during the fight and had wandered ringside to watch the second bracket fighters. It was going to be a long night as tournaments tended to be but it suited him. Since his promotion he didn’t have as many outlets for his energy. Fighting to exhaustion would do him good.  
He stood next to Tony who gave him a silent nod of approval. It was hard to divine strategy from a fight that lasted about twenty seconds. Not that John was all that good at strategy. He was never quite sure why he needed anything more than ‘beat the shit out of the other guy’ but at least Tony knew how to make it appeal to him.  
It was probably the reason they were friends.  
The first few fights were uneventful, there were no big wins in the betting pools, none of the odds were usually high enough during the first round, and generally the expected fighters won.  
His attention started to wander, itching to get back in to the thick of it, he started bobbing back and forth. The waiting was always the hardest part and these early matches were rarely interesting, half the fighters tapped out before any real damage could be done.  
“I wonder who Sal got to step in for Mikey.” Tony mused next to him.  
“Does it matter?” John honestly didn’t know that Mikey was out. It was too bad, the guy was a decent scrap, one of the few consistent fighters. It was likely that whoever was filling in was going to be some green kid who wouldn’t last the first round.  
Tony Shrugged, “Guess not, but we’ll find out soon.” The janitor was mopping the ring as one of the fighters was being dragged out by his team. The next set of fighters stepped past the chain link and John could barely believe his eyes.  
“Holy Shit.” Gat had to do a double take watching the new fighters enter the ring, one in particular caught his eye. Vibrant purple hair, familiar looking stilettos, and a miniskirt that looked like it belonged in a night club rather than the ring. She was smiling and waving at the crowd as the announcer introduced her as the ‘Saint of Saints’, John could barely heard the announcer over the roar in his ears.  
Tony was looking between him and the ring, and he seemed to put the pieces together, “That’s her?”  
He nodded dumbly. It was ironic he’d finally stopped thinking about her and here she was. When he thought it out it’d make sense to run into her at a place like Sal’s. Stillwater’s gangs made up a third of the fighters and probably half of the crowd.  
She didn’t look like she was ready for a fight. Stilettos and a miniskirt weren’t exactly ring ready attire, and she seemed to have been patched up recently already some sort of bandage taped to her shoulder and another wrapped around her thigh, peeking out just beneath her skirt. If John were to place a bet on appearance alone he’d put his money on the mean looking motherfucker opposite her in the ring.  
It seemed that was who everyone else was betting on too, nobody had told the bookies who she really was since they had set the odds against her.  
Still she swaggered to the center of the ring as if she was the biggest badass in the room which considering her reputation couldn’t be that far off.  
The Playa seemed to feed off the crowd throwing out finger guns and picking ridiculous poses. She was showboating and the crowd was eating it up, half cheers half boos in equal measure, John couldn’t deny she certainly had his attention.  
She’d still been working the crowd as the bell rang, and her opponent made to tackle her from behind. But she was far too fast, she deftly and expertly slipped out of his grasp standing aside as he stumbled forward, giving his ass a boot for good measure.  
The crowd laughed and the other fighter turned red regaining his balance and facing her again. She stood nonchalantly across from him hip cocked and an eyebrow raised. She seemed to be saying something but the words were lost in the jeers of the crowd.  
Her opponent had apparently heard her, he went even a deeper shade of red and roared as he rushed at her for a second time. This time she ran back at him sticking out an arm last minute clotheslining the man and hitting the floor with him in a move that reminded John of pro wrestling. But by the look of the guy on the ground far more real.  
She didn’t even give the guy a chance to catch his breath. He was still wheezing trying to roll over5 as she straddled him and began punching him in the face. If he’d been breathing, he might have tapped out sooner. As it was someone had to help the poor man limp out of the ring. His face bloodied and bruised beyond recognition, the swelling already making it difficult for him to see.  
The boss stood in the middle of the ring still basking in the cheers and jeers of the crowd. The announcer lifted her arm bloodstained knuckles held high for the world to see, her skirt hiked almost too high and a hungry look in her eye. It was like a fucking painting and it was imprinted into John’s memory.  
She walked towards the gate as they started mopping up for the next pair of fighters. As she passed by John, she looked directly at him and winked. He couldn’t help but smile back dumbly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am still writing, I am not particularly fast at it, I see every Kudos and swoon at every comment, thanks for all the love ~ Vice


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